


The View from Underwater

by cherrypinup



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Canon Divergence, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-05
Updated: 2012-08-05
Packaged: 2017-11-11 12:53:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/478742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherrypinup/pseuds/cherrypinup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John finds out Sherlock's alive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The View from Underwater

**Author's Note:**

> Just an exercise that had to be rewritten after viewing the video below.
> 
> Spoken text taken from <https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W_bxrmpqGZ0>
> 
> Completely out of not canon compliant when the real thing turned up. Jerks.

There is nothing here for him anymore. The time has come to move on, maybe even get out of London - off of this whole island, and try something different. The one thing holding him here is gone. The excitement, the danger, even just trying to make a cup of tea around a bloody chemistry set. His sister probably won’t even know he’s gone. Not for months anyway. Not unless he tells her, which he won’t. Not at first. Not until he’s a long way from home.

Lastrade will understand, of course. He may want to think that John is over it but the times they’ve worked side by side since have been empty; as clinical as Sherlock ever was - as cold as he is lying in the ground.

Mrs. Hudson is another thing. He feels bad even thinking about leaving her. Baker Street is still home, but not one he feels comfortable rattling around in by himself. Mycroft put most of Sherlock’s things in storage, but even after three years there are moments that remind him. It’s not like he sees him around every corner now. It isn’t the same as in the beginning when John was just sure this was some great stunt and any minute he might bump into Sherlock on the street or see him lying on the sofa when he walked into the flat. It isn’t the same at all, which is why he’s thinking it might be time.

He’ll give it one more month, maybe then he’ll start looking for somewhere else. Maybe he’ll be ready to put this part of his life as far behind him as possible. When he sees Mycroft standing there outside of Speedy’s, as if nothing has changed, it has him seeing red all over again. 

Mycroft may have lost his brother, born in blood but never truly connecting. But John lost something so much worse – his lifeline. A reason to get up every morning and fight the good fight, even if that fight had been with Sherlock himself. 

Before he can think about it anymore, he slides into the seat across from Mycroft and waits. When he starts talking it’s everything that John wants to hear and nothing all the same. He says he’s certain, but can John really believe anything after all this time? It sounds so bland coming from that high and mighty voice, though Mycroft sounds like he’s been swallowing ground glass. And John’s glad for it. Glad that something has taken this man - the man who took Sherlock away as if he’d thrown him off the roof himself - is affected by something. Maybe the guilt is still with him the way it’s never left John himself.

* * *

When he sees the monstrosity of the abandoned building where Irene Adler told him she was alive, he’s not exactly surprised. If this is for real, Sherlock’s flare for the dramatic would bring them here. John gets out of the car, looking around to orient himself. Still not sure he can believe it’s really happening, he steps away.

He knows where to go; feet taking him to the exact place he went all those years ago. Striding inside he can’t help the feeling of Déjà vu. His heart beats a bit faster and he slows as he goes past the stacks where Sherlock had hidden, probably already knowing she was alive. 

“Alright, I’m here. Whoever this is, it had better be good.” 

He still doesn’t quite believe Mycroft, though the man should know better than to mess with something like this. John’s become brittle and brutal in the last three years. Always suspicious of what might be around the corner; never taking words at face value. He won’t believe it until he sees with his own eyes. His hands vibrate as they clench at his sides. Something is going to change; he can feel it in his blood. 

When he steps out to look, the end of the hall is as dark and empty as he remembers. He wants to step closer, just to be sure, when someone takes a step into the faded light. He stands ready but is still frozen in shock. The coat is long but even with the collar turned up he can see dark curls flopping across a high brow.

This is some horrible joke; he barely chokes down the bile rising in the back of his throat. He turns and can tell that even with circles under the eyes, hollowness in the cheeks, it’s him.

“You’re alive,” he chokes out, eyes knowing he’s right and his brain is firing off faster than he can track, trying to explain how it’s possible. ‘I had to.’ is not the answer he’s looking for. He refuses it; still not sure he can believe even the voice.

“No.” He’s angry, oh he’s angry. These last three years were impossible. He’s admitted many things in the dark of night, come to terms with where things stood, but this is too much to bear right now. “It’s not okay!” John yells. 

“You were dead.” He feels the bile rising again and knows he has to get out of there. It’s like he’s seeing everything from the edge of a dream. A nightmare. One he had given up hope of ever seeing again and he can’t reconcile what’s right before him. 

“John. I’m sorry.” 

“No,” John says as he turns on his heal and walks away, back straight, arms at his sides as if his world isn’t tilting. It’s not okay.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me at [Dark Side of Fixtion](http://darksideoffixtion.tumblr.com/).


End file.
